Sunday

Moving



Moving day is upon us.  More precisely moving days.  It's been a long time since I could move in a day.  Would that be a dream or what?  And it is...not future tense but rather a dream of the past.  Nostalgia.  I read where the word was invented in the sixteen hundreds to describe a condition of homesick Swiss soldiers.  Oh those Swiss, they sure have a way with our inner workings, don't they?  Bank accounts, butter and the ever present id and ego. Interesting domain.

Certainly a domain of most serious interest to this painter, to this artist.  I don't have a business plan, high hopes will do just fine, for the new studio but I do know what I'll be doing in that enormous 2100 square feet of space.  I'll be following the trail.  I'll be picking up Hansel and Greta's bread crumbs (and they thought birds ate those crumbs) examining them for their deeper meaning.  I'll be thinking about dreams and how easily the figure can shape shift in that realm.  How effortless swimming and flying can be and how easily imprisoning walls come down.  Our dreams.  We're kissed by giants, lead by rabbits and fed by foxes.  Birds, they fly to us not from.  In the dream.

Dream studio.  I have imagined it so many times that it is little wonder I have not stopped to say goodbye to the old one.  I keep thinking I should but why?  I had good times there.  The work was good there.  And I was always deeply grateful to have it.  All the same, I've been leaving it for years.  Knowing I would be leaving kept me happy while I was there.  So I would say it has had a very long goodbye.

The mad-hatted rabbit always insists on haste.  There are talking caterpillars, a tea party, a chess game starring a red queen who cheats (don't they all) and a room that grows.  Bears roam this space and are free.  The powers that be say painting is dead but in this world extinction is unheard of.  Let's go.